“Thanks doc,” Bly said as he held open the stall door.
Jagan was hoping this wasn’t a sign of things to come.
Chapter 16
Jagan had more questions for Lolli about the Capote case, but he couldn’t face her after what happened to Westley. Thankfully, the medications kept him alive, but the venom left the poor ole’ gelding lame. Maybe Pop could talk to her and explain what had happened. Either way, he knew she would take it hard.
As Jagan walked up the porch stairs to the back entrance, he saw a note taped to the door. Kaya was out on a shopping excursion which probably meant she had found a new Bingo hall. He entered the mudroom and turned the kitchen doorknob. Was that a male’s voice? His mind was probably twitching again, but he grabbed the rifle hanging near the washer. Opening the bolt action, he confirmed it was loaded.
“Heel boy,” he whispered. Bocephus submitted and got into place behind his master. As he tiptoed his way through the kitchen, the voice grew louder. A red light emanated from the living room. He noticed the light began to flash. Turning the corner, he raised the sights to his right eye.
His eyes darted from side to side and up and down. The room was empty. “False alarm, boy. Guess Kaya left the screen on. So much for being green.” Jagan set down the .22 and the ticker at the bottom of the 3-D image caught his eye.
Jagan read along as a voice announced, “We interrupt your regularly scheduled program for a breaking story.” A male news anchor appeared on air and reported–“This just in from our affiliates at the Associated Press. An unprecedented mass exodus of objects from the Vatican archives and staff from the city is underway. We go live now to our correspondent in Rome.”
A slender Indian woman appeared on screen with the Apostolic Palace in the backdrop. She announced the following in a British accent–“Thanks, Dan. What is unfolding behind me is astonishing. Since the early hours of the morning, dozens of unmarked, white vans have been observed pulling up to the palace. Vatican personnel were spotted pushing carts full of books, documents, artwork, and other artifacts and loading the priceless objects into the mysterious vehicles.”
The image of the female reporter was minimized while a live feed took over most of the space. The camera zoomed in on a white van with its back doors completely ajar. She continued, “One of our sources has advised the relics are being taken to an undisclosed port. Rumors have been surfacing that the items are in the process of being shipped to South America and that the Holy Father plans to seek refuge there.”
Photographs of the Pope, gold chalices, bibles, and scrolls were flashed on screen as the reporter spoke. “There have already been numerous witnesses that have come forward to say some of his cardinals have already taken up residence in Brazil and that a new palace is already in the early stages of construction. The Vatican spokesperson and the Brazilian authorities have declined to comment. Dan, back to you.” The broadcast ended with an aerial clip of the Christ the Redeemer statue in Rio. There was something ominous about the way the arms were stretched out.
Jagan turned off the screen. He didn’t know what to make of the report, but felt it was a bad omen. He wasn’t Catholic, but his gym buddy Luca was and his mother was a devout one at that. Maybe he would know more about it. Back in the kitchen, he opened up the main fridge, took out a leftover steak, and tossed it into Bocephus’ bowl.
“Enjoy it boy. I’ve got some lifting to do.”
Chapter 17
The high-pitched roar of the dirt-bike’s engine sent Bocephus into a frenzy. The back tire tore into the driveway leaving a storm of dirt particles suspended in the air. Luca removed his helmet revealing a plentiful supply of jet-black wavy hair. He’d come right over when he received the text message.
“Come on in man,” Jagan said as he held open the back door. “Wan a brew?” If there was one thing they always had in their house, it was beer. Bly always kept the fridge stocked. Last time there was a hurricane his mother was livid because Bly returned home from emergency shopping with cases of beer and cans of spaghettios. Kaya yelled that Chef Boyardee wasn’t going to rescue them off the roof when the house flooded. He tried to defend himself by saying all the shelves were empty and that all the candles and flashlights were gone, but she didn’t buy it. Jagan had entered the room during the argument and had to duck so he wouldn’t get struck by flying cans of the alphabet-shaped pasta.
“Sure, I’ll take a beer but do you want something a little stronger?” Luca glanced over his own shoulder. “I brought some bud,” he said reaching into his pocket. He held out a baggie filled with green leaves. “It’s Sa-ti-va,” he sang out as if he were performing one of those annoying jingles on TV.
“You know I don’t smoke.” Luca was obsessed with weed. He knew all the different varieties and all the lingo. He was pretty much high twenty-four seven. Even though the plant had been legalized, Luca still acted like it wasn’t. Maybe it made him feel more Mafioso that way.
“What about the Pissa?” Luca said as his head moved side to side surveying the room. He was just waiting for her to pop up out of nowhere and snort near his ear. “I figured your mom and Bethany were probably going to try and set me up with her since things didn’t work out between you two love birds.” Luca crouched down and pushed his hips back and forth like he was humping the air. “Snort for me baby,” he said and let out a cackle.
“Quit it, man and don’t worry no one’s here.” Luca must have smoked on the way over. He was acting goofier than normal and a little paranoid. Jagan flipped the bottle under the opener that was attached to the chopping block. “I would join you, but I’m still in training for the show.”
Luca let out a sigh and accepted the offer. He was disappointed he’d have to drink and smoke solo. Turning the bottle around, he glanced at the label. “Bud Light?” he chuckled and slapped Jagan on the side of his arm.
“You can thank Pop for that.” Luca had expensive taste. Jagan couldn’t afford his brands of ale or anything else of his for that matter. Some of his Italian’s suits were custom tailored and cost more than his car.
“Pop? When are you going to stop calling him that? Time to grow a pair man.” Luca laughed even harder.
“All right. Calm down. Bly, is that better? You’re a real comedian, you know that?” Luca was always busting his balls for something. Last week it was his choice of gym shoes and the way he pronounced Pacific. Luca actually thought there was an S at the beginning. Jagan had to locate it on Google voice to prove it to him.
Luca consumed half the beer in a single gulp and rested it on the counter. He knelt down and put his hands behind Bocephus’ ears, scratching them back and forth. The hound’s rear paw dug into his own belly in automatic response to the affection as if he were a wind-up toy.
Jagan opened a bottle of tonic water and took a sip. He pursed his lips. “I can’t wait until I’m done shredding. This stuff is sour” he complained. “What I wouldn’t give for some sugar.”
“Maybe you should try those flavor packets. Grape’s not too bad. I usually get the ones with electrolytes so I don’t pass out.”
Luca glanced at Jagan’s drink as if he were disgusted, no doubt because it wasn’t Perrier. Jagan knew the only reason Luca fainted was because of the dope. He was the only guy he knew that was a fitness junkie and a pothead all at the same time.
“You missed out on the ride this morning. You should get your Harley fixed quick.” Jagan’s shit was always breaking. Luca felt bad for him knowing money was tight and all.
“I’m waiting on a part.” Jagan didn’t want to tell him he hadn’t ordered it yet. He was waiting for his next pay check. The last time he told him something like that, Luca whipped out a wad of cash which made him feel like a schlep.
Luca continued, “There were some tens down at the lake. This one babe’s top fell off when she jumped in and…”
“Have you seen the news?” Jagan hated to cut him off. On an ordinary day, he’d love to hear the details about the chick and her bare breast
s, but he had to get to the point.
“No, like I said, I’ve been out all day. Did something happen?”
“Sort of. You grew up over where the Pope’s palace is, didn’t you?”
The corners of Luca’s mouth widened into a grin, “We lived in Florence and no one refers to it as his palace.”
“His house or whatever it’s called. Are you familiar with it?” Jagan’s cheeks flushed with embarrassment. He wasn’t well versed in geography and world religion.
“The Pope lives in Vatican City which is in Rome, about three hours from my hometown. So I guess you could say I grew up nearby. It’s quite the layout. There’s the shrine of course, a museum, a library…they even have their own police.”
“Have you been there?”
“Oh yes, many times.” Luca’s head tilted down and his eyebrows lifted, “Why all the sudden interest? You want to become a Jesuit or something? Jagan the Jesuit has a nice ring to it you know. I could just picture you in that brown dress.” Luca waved his hands closer to one another and then apart to simulate a woman’s figure. “Sexy.” He puckered his lips and grabbed his package.
“Cute. You know I’m a Spiritist. I’ve never even stepped foot into a church,” Jagan replied. All he knew about Catholics was from music videos. A bunch of cute girls in short plaid skirts and saddle shoes came to mind.
“You’ve never been baptized?” Luca rubbed his hand over his mouth. “Mamma Mia. Maybe I should cleanse you right here and now,” he said, acting half-serious.
“No. Our people don’t do that kind of thing. We don’t even build temples or anything like that. The land and nature are our churches.”
“You should come with me sometime, but on second thought…maybe your head would spin around in circles,” Luca jested. He turned on the kitchen faucet and gathered some water in his hands. With several quick motions, he flung the fluid in Jagan’s face and let out a chuckle.
“Cut the crap, Luca.”
“I just wanted to see if it sizzled.” he laughed even harder. Why you being so sensitive?
“Okay, you had your fun.” Jagan grinned as he wiped it off with a dish towel. “Maybe I should throw some tribal paint on your face and see how you like it.”
“I’d make that shit look good man.” Luca ran his fingers through his hair. “So, if you’re not interested in becoming a Catholic, why all the sudden interest in the Pope?”
“There was a breaking news story…they’re moving all of the archives and priests out of the Vatican.”
Luca’s face slackened and his Mediterranean skin turned pale. “That’s impossible.” With an upward gaze, he raised his hand in the air and spoke rapidly in Italian. “Are you sure you haven’t been smoking?”
Jagan shook his head. “I watched it with my own two eyes. There were men in uniforms loading boxes and relics onto white vans.” Jagan didn’t realize his friend would get so emotional about it.
“Where were they taking them?” Luca grabbed the crucifix that was around his neck and moved it from side to side.
“Brazil, I think.”
Gusts of wind caught the porch door, swinging it open and slamming it against the frame. The wind chimes collided furiously as if in response to the eerie news. Goosebumps emerged over Luca’s muscular forearms. Criss-crossing them, he rubbed his skin to warm them.
“Why Brazil?” Jagan asked.
“Well how the hell should I know?” Luca gazed up again and did the sign of the cross as if he were confessing for his choice in words. “Brazil has a lot of Catholics, more than any other country. So if the religion was a beauty contest, the Vatican would win the crown, but Brazil would be the runner-up so to speak. Could that be why?”
“Makes sense to me,” Jagan stated.
“I wonder if this has anything to do with the EU.” Luca placed the golden cross up to his lips and kissed it.
“The European Union?”
“That new chancellor they elected doesn’t like religion, blames it for all the atrocities in history.” Luca placed his hands on the chopping block and lowered his head. “The priest said last week in a sermon that pretty soon they were going to outlaw it all together over there. He said it was kind of like the holocaust all over again or something like that. I overheard one of the deacons say the priest was just pontificating, whatever that means.”
“But why would they vacate the Vatican so suddenly. There’s got to be more to it, don’t you think?”
“Yes, but what?”
“I was hoping you could tell me.” Jagan gulped the rest of his drink.
“Here’s the thing. The Pope has been in Rome since the fourth century…that’s when Vatican City was founded. We’re talking over 1700 years of tradition.” Luca’s mother had dragged him to the Vatican so many times; he practically memorized the tour-guide’s lines.
“That is a long time, but what’s your point?”
“My point is simple. It would almost take an act of God for this to happen.” Luca covered his face with his hands and began swearing in Italian.
“What Luca? You’re freaking me out.” Jagan had never seen him like this.
“Well, it could be an act of…you know, something else.”
“What do you mean something else?”
“Oh Jesus, Mary, and Joseph help us.” Luca tilted his neck all the way back and threw his hands in the air.
“Come on Luca, spit it out. What did you mean by something other than an act of God?”
“It could be…an act of evil.” Luca went over to the sink and splashed water on his face.
“Like end of days kind of stuff?”
“That’s precisely what I mean.”
“You don’t really believe in that kind of shit, do you?”
Luca didn’t respond. Jagan thought he must have believed in it or else he would have answered the question and said no. The two men stared at each other without speaking for several moments. Bocephus ran around in circles and panted heavily as if he were possessed.
“I wonder if this has anything to do with my dream.” Jagan blurted out. He had no idea how they were connected, but a nuclear attack was apocalyptic. If the Pope leaving the Vatican was some sort of sign of Armageddon then the two could be related.
“Dream?”
“Never mind.” They were close, but Jagan was not going to tell his friend about his astral experience. Luca would suspect he had lost the plot for sure. Hell, he was even starting to wonder if he was losing it. Maybe it was a good time to change the subject before he slipped up and said something he’d regret. “Look, maybe we’re just reading too much into this. Why don’t you just sit down for a minute and relax.”
Luca lit up a joint and went into the living room and sat on the couch. Jagan stood by ready with a bottle of Febreze.
“Since you’re here, want to help me with something?”
“What’s that?”
“It’s up in the attic.”
“What is?”
“A chest, it’s rather cumbersome and I don’t want to drop it.”
“Sure man. What’s in it?”
“Research notes…you know, for that paper you have to write?”
“What do you have encyclopedias up there or something? You know people don’t use those anymore.” The corners of Luca’s mouth lifted as he held up his cellular phone. “It’s called the In-ter-net.”
“No. I get that wiseass. Lolli’s police notes and newspaper clippings are up there and with all this talk of the apocalypse, well…let’s just say I’d appreciate the company. I’m kind of creeped out.”
“Enough said. Lead the way.” Luca was always up for a little adventure.
Jagan made his way to the hallway and pulled down the trap door. He navigated the stairs and Luca followed. Jagan pulled the string retrieving it, so Bocephus wouldn’t follow. Last time he went up there he got stuck and almost broke his paw. With a flip of the switch, the electric Coleman turned on, but wasn’t bright enough to illuminate th
e entire space. The hard pine planks groaned as their heavy boots traversed the attic floor. Near the base of the window, he found an azure wooden chest with leather valances. The metal lock was rusty but not secured. The cobwebs shrunk apart as he pried open the heavy lid.
“There’s not gonna be a body in there, right?” Luca’s eyes focused on the trunk. Luca had an intense fear of anything related to death, especially the smell.
“I sure hope not,” Jagan replied. The hinges creaked slowly as he lifted the top, just like out of a Vincent Price movie.
“Look at all those newspapers,” Luca said as they knelt down gaping at the contents. They sifted through the publications. One of the headlines read—Were Truman Capote's "In Cold Blood" Killers Responsible for the Unsolved Slaying of the Walker Family? On the front page of one of the sheets was a black-and-white photograph of a cowboy, a woman, a young boy, and a baby girl.
“Whoa, were they murdered?” Luca asked dramatically. He picked up the paper and stared at the image.
“Believe so,” Jagan responded. “Lolli worked on the case before I was born.”
“How sad-a,” Luca said, emphasizing his Italian accent. Droplets of rain struck the tin roof. “My bike. I’d better go, man. Give me a buzz tomorrow.”
“Sure, leave me alone with the ghosts. Some friend.”
“They’re probably better company.” Luca snickered.
“Ain’t that the truth. Here, take some of these with you. Make sure you grab some plastic bags so they don’t get wet. You can bring ‘em back when you’re done.”
“Thanks and listen, don’t stay up here too long. This place gives me the jimjams. Ciao”
“Ciao.” Jagan parroted him and he was pleased his Italian was improving. Jagan didn’t blame Luca for being spooked. The roar of the dirt bike sent Bocephus into a howling fury. The timid shower transformed into an angry downpour as if it were relaying an ominous message. Jagan knew his friend was going to get soaked. He lifted up the last paper. Underneath it was a dusty leather-bound journal. Setting the paper aside, he opened it and read the inscription…
The Predecessor Page 7